Burning forests, flooded streets, a planet spinning toward collapse. Climate activists around the world face disaster and despair on a daily basis. Research suggests that although campaigners are deeply committed to tackling the crisis, they face a high risk of burnout.

This is not surprising given that a large part of their work includes challenging political, economic and cultural resistance. And when also taken with the fact that legal repression of climate activism is on the rise globally.

On top of this, many people still believe that living sustainably is about loss. Less holidays, less consumption: more sacrifice, less fun.

But that’s not the whole story. Because beneath the noise of global summits and corporate promises, another kind of climate activism is quietly taking root. One that blends imagination and playfulness – and, dare we say it, joy.

Across Denmark, this kind of activism takes many forms. Young people run repair cafes, grow community gardens and organise forest walks. They create art projects and storytelling discussions and explore what life beyond fossil fuels could actually look like.

Our research suggests that these projects are central to how grassroots groups can inspire action – and offer a new model for climate activism both in Denmark and beyond.

Another way of thinking

One of the groups, Arternes Ambassadører (“species’ ambassadors”) which aims to give democratic representation to other species, explains more:

The energy that drives us is very much about joy, enthusiasm, creativity and imagination. I think that’s lacking in nature activism, which is often driven by anger and protest, disappointment and concern. We prefer to imagine what we would like to see happen.

Our interviews with more than 40 green grassroots movements suggests that protests and boycotts are only a small part of their work. Many now recognise that positive visions of sustainable living attract far more support than negative messaging.

Veggie Friends | Rap about food waste by the the Danish ecoband project Økobandet.

Den Grønne Ungdomsbevægelse (The Green Youth Movement), for example, aims to spark imagination through action. They publish books about possible futures, lead forest excursions to get people thinking creatively about sustainability. And each year award the Bumblebee Prize to businesses pioneering sustainable practices.

Grønne Nabofællesskaber (Green Neighbourhood Communities) calls this “everyday activism”. A spokesperson told us: “We can see that when we cooperate and build alternatives, we get a bigger voice.”

Community living

Ecological villages and communal spaces such as Freetown Christiania in Copenhagen, further put these ideas into practice. Residents of all ages live together, host communal meals, run non-market festivals and develop renewable energy projects.

One ecovillage member told us: “We need to alter our consumption habits. But we can help each other in that process.” Another resident we spoke to put it this way: “This is just the beginning (as) part of the green transition, this lifestyle (will) at some point become more mainstream”.

While craft and reuse communities emphasise visibility and action, as one group told us: “The alternatives already exist, so it’s just a matter of getting out there and making people aware of it.”

These activities do more than show new ways of living. They help activists cope with exhaustion and build local resilience. They also help to tackle the “crisis of imagination”, whereby people struggle to picture a world beyond fossil fuels and consumerism.

Cooperative origins

The origins of this kind of grassroots collective action can be tracked back to the beginning of the late 19th century, when Danish farmers and workers built thousands of cooperatives — dairies, slaughterhouses, shops, housing associations — all owned and run collectively. Communities pooled resources, made democratic decisions and shared the benefits. Over time, the movement became a defining feature of Danish society: if you want change, you do it together.

This history matters because it taught generations of Danes that everyday people can organise, experiment and build alternatives when institutions fall short. And that legacy shapes today’s green grassroots movements too.

Our recent research found that many Danish climate groups draw directly on this tradition — and adapt the old cooperative spirit to the climate crisis.

This might be harder to pull off in countries with less social cohesion or civic support. But these ideas are still relevant beyond Denmark. As one of the energy communities told us: “Our local fight is a contribution to a larger, global fight”.

A new future

As our report shows, these kinds of approaches help people see sustainability not as a burden, but as a richer, more fulfilling way to live. This is especially important in the global north, where the impacts of climate change still feel distant.

Though many of the Danish groups we spoke with stress that the climate crisis provides an opportunity to create totally new narratives and practices. As a spokesperson for the Copenhagen environmental organisation cirka cph told us: “We look into a future where our society will change radically. The important question is: What can we learn? And how can we create the best settings for the future society?”

Indeed, what these grassroots movements share is that they don’t claim to have all the answers. They experiment, imagine and prototype possible futures. They make the green transition tangible, local and inclusive and ultimately take activism beyond doom and despair to a place of hope and possibility.

This article was commissioned as part of a partnership between Videnskab.dk and The Conversation.

This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Kristoffer Balslev Willert, University of Southern Denmark and Bryan Yazell, University of Southern Denmark

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This article was commissioned as part of a partnership between Videnskab.dk and The Conversation. Kristoffer Balslev Willert receives funding from Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond (DFF).

Bryan Yazell receives funding from Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond (DFF) and Interreg Europe. This article was commissioned as part of a partnership collaboration between Videnskab.dk and The Conversation.